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Scarlett's POV
The heavy oak doors of the Hart Tower penthouse boardroom slammed shut behind me with a finality that echoed like a gunshot. Silence fell instantly. I felt the weight of four pairs of eyesācold, calculating, and dangerously beautifulālocking onto me. They looked at me as if I were prey that had dared walk straight into a lionās den, and for a heartbeat, I felt like one. I lifted my chin. I refused to let my knees buckle, even though my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was painfully aware of how out of place I looked; in my simple black dress and scuffed heels, I was surrounded by tailored suits that probably cost more than my entire yearās rent. I had done my research on them, but seeing them in the flesh was different. At the head of the long glass table sat Lucien Hart, the eldest. At thirty-two, he was the undisputed king of a multibillion-dollar empire. He was ruthless and untouched, a man who reportedly only smiled when someone was about to lose everything. His sharp jaw was clenched, his silver-gray eyes slicing through me with the precision of a scalpel. To his right lounged Damon Hart, the familyās shadowāthe mafia boss. He handled the underground affairs and the security of the Hart name. With his dark hair and a darker smirk, his sharp green eyes tracked my every move. His fingers drummed lazily on the arm of his chair as if this were all merely a private performance for his entertainment. His reputation for breaking both business rivals and women was legendary, and looking at him, I believed every word of it. Next to him, Kai Hart stared at me with an unnerving intensity. He was the tech genius, the one behind the familyās most dangerous innovationsāand the one rumored to have the shortest fuse. Brooding and silent, his stormy blue eyes promised a temper I wasn't sure I could survive. And finally, leaning back with a deceptively charming smile, was Theo Hart, the youngest. Golden-haired and playful, he looked like every girlās dream, a Greek god plucked straight from the cover of Forbes. He was notorious for dating women and discarding them the very next day, always seen with the world's prettiest models and influencers. To him, I was probably just another face to be replaced. "Youāve got to be fucking kidding me," Lucien said. His voice was low and lethal. He held up the crisp document in his handāmy ticket to this nightmareātheir fatherās last will and testament. "This is a joke. A sick, twisted joke." I swallowed hard but kept my voice steady. "I wish it were. Believe me, Mr. Hart, I have zero desire to be here either." Damon let out a soft, dangerous laugh. "Zero desire? Sweetheart, you just inherited the right to live in our penthouse, work directly under us, and collect a monthly allowance that most people would kill for. All because our dear old dad apparently lost his mind before he died." Kaiās fingers tightened around the edge of the glass table until his knuckles turned white. "Explain," he demanded, his voice like gravel. "Why the hell would our father tie his entire empire to some... nobody?" My stomach twisted. I hated this part. I hated that I had no choice but to stand here and bare my ugliest truths to the four men who clearly despised my very existence. "Because your father saved my life five years ago," I said quietly. "And in return... I made him a promise. A stupid, desperate promise when I was bleeding out on a hospital bed." The room went deathly still. Theoās playful mask slipped for a split second, genuine surprise flashing across his face. "Youāre the girl from the accident?" I nodded once, the memories threatening to choke me. "I was a stripper in one of your clubs, Velvet El. One night went wrong with one of the VIPs. I was near to almost dying from being beaten and assaulted by a client, but your father interfered. He found out I was only doing it to afford my mother's treatment. Richard Hart, God bless his soul, paid for the hospital bills, then the funeral when she died anyway." I felt the prickle of tears but forced them back. "He said if anything ever happened to him, I was to come here. That I had to... help keep you four from destroying each other." A bitter smile touched my lips. "Apparently, he believed only an outsider could stop the Hart brothers from tearing the empire apart once he was gone." Lucien rose slowly from his chair. All six-foot-three of controlled fury, he stalked around the table until he towered over me. He was close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. It was suffocating. "Let me make one thing crystal clear, Miss Voss," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "We donāt need a babysitter. We donāt need your pity. And we sure as hell donāt need some broke little charity case coming up with a sob story thinking she can just 'tame' us." He leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of my ear as he delivered the final blow. "So pack your pathetic bags and get the fuck out of our tower... before we make your life a living hell." My pulse roared in my ears, but I didnāt flinch. Instead, I met his icy gaze head-on, a spark of defiance igniting in my eyes. I reached into my bag and pulled out my own copy of the document, the legal terms highlighted in unforgiving, bright yellow. "Too late for that, Mr. Hart," I whispered back, my voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury. "According to the will, if I leave before one full year... or if any of you break the cohabitation agreement... the entire Hart Empire goes to your biggest rival, Victor Lang. Every last share. Every building. Every secret." I took one step back, just enough to look at all four brothers at once. The shift in the room was instantaneous. The air became heavy, pressurized by the realization of the ultimate trap their father had set. "So whether you like it or not... youāre stuck with me. And Iām stuck with the four of you." For the first time that night, none of the Hart brothers had a quick comeback. The silence stretched, thick and electric. Then Damonās smirk returned, slower and far more dangerous than before. He stood up, his massive, tattooed frame casting a shadow over the table. "Well, well, well..." he drawled, his eyes raking over me like I was something he was already imagining breaking. "Looks like the game just got interesting." He walked toward me, stopping just outside my personal space. "One year, Miss Voss? You think you can survive one year in this penthouse with us? Youāre not just living here. Youāre working for us. That means you belong to our schedule. Our whims. Our mess." "I'm aware of the terms," I said, though my hands were shaking behind my back where they couldn't see. "I don't think you are," Kai interjected, finally standing. He looked at me expressionless. "You're a variable we didn't account for. And in my world, variables that don't fit are deleted." Theo let out a sharp, barking laugh, though his amber eyes remained cold. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Kai. If she wants to play house, let's play house. I've always wanted a live-in maid with a martyr complex." Lucien didn't join in. He remained perfectly still, watching me with a gaze that suggested he was already planning ten moves ahead. He was the strategist, the one who moved the pieces. And right now, he was looking at me like a piece that needed to be sacrificed to save the board. "The penthouse has five suites," Lucien said, his voice regaining its professional, clipped command. "You will stay in the west wing. You will be at the office by seven a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. You will not bring guests. You will not speak to the press. And you will stay out of our way unless summoned." He stepped closer again, forcing me to look up into his frozen stare. "You think you're saving this family, Scarlett? You're not. You're just giving us a front-row seat to your collapse. This inheritance won't go off to some charity because weāll make sure youāre the one who begs to sign the resignation papers within a month." I felt the weight of their collective gaze, a wall of wealth, power, and genuine malice. I was a girl who had spent the last five years just trying to keep her head above water, and now I had jumped into the deepest part of the ocean with four sharks. "I've survived worse than you," I said, my voice barely a whisper. Damon laughed, a sound devoid of any real humor. "Doubtful. But I suppose we'll find out soon." He leaned down, his lips near my cheek, sending a shiver of pure terror through me. "Welcome to the family, Scarlett. Try not to scream too loud when the walls start closing in." As the four of them filed out of the boardroom, leaving me alone in the glass-walled space, I finally let my breath out. My strength failing the moment I was out of their sight. I didn't know why I had agreed to this. Now the most successful and handsome men in the city were going to move back into the penthouse, leaving their private apartments to stay together with me for a whole year. It was insane. I had just stepped into the wolvesā lair. And something told me these particular wolves had no intention of letting their new prey escape unscathed. The year ahead wasn't just a requirement of a will; it was a death sentence. And looking at the skyline of the city they owned, I wasn't sure I would survive it.The rare, fragile laughter that had warmed the penthouse evaporated by midnight. After Lucienās spectacular, humbling downfall at the Obsidian Lounge, the tension between us hadn't disappeared, it evolved. The cold, impenetrable walls the four brothers used to keep me at arm's length were officially broken. But what lay beneath those broken walls wasn't safety. It was pure, unadulterated, raw obsession. I couldn't walk into the kitchen without Damonās heavy, dark gaze following my every movement, his massive frame shifting instinctively to block any path that led away from him. I couldn't check my laptop without Kai quietly monitoring my network traffic, his sharp strategist mind analyzing every byte of data to ensure no thread of my past could reach me. Theo had stopped bringing high-society flirts into the penthouse entirely, his golden eyes burning with a dark, restless jealousy whenever I so much as touched my phone. And Lucien? The untouchable CEO no longer pretended his
Three nights after our explosive confrontation in the living room, I needed to get out. Dr. Evelyn Reedās words had echoed in my head like a haunting melody: You're using Arthur as a shield. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to prove to myself, and to the four dark, suffocating shadows hovering over my life that I could have a normal, quiet evening with a decent man. So, I accepted Arthurās invitation to the Obsidian Lounge an exclusive, dimly lit rooftop bar perched atop one of Midtown's sleekest skyscrapers. The atmosphere was sophisticated, pulsing with low, thumping electronic jazz music, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass walls that offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the glittering New York skyline. I wore a backless charcoal cocktail dress, sitting across from Arthur in a secluded leather booth near the back corner. Arthur was charming, pouring me a glass of sparkling water and asking about my work on the corporate audits. But as the night wore on, I felt rest
The silence that followed my challenge was so absolute, so suffocating, that you could hear the faint hum of the city lights shimmering through the glass balcony doors. Damonās hand hovered inches from my throat, a terrifying, trembling barrier of pure, unbridled mafia possession. His dark, bloodshot eyes were completely black, burning with a dangerous hunger that threatened to shatter the thin veneer of control holding him together. I didn't flinch. I held my chin high, my breath hitching only slightly as the heat radiating off his massive frame washed over me. "You think this is a game," Lucien said softly. His voice didn't rise in volume, but the absolute coldness in his baritone made the temperature in the penthouse plummet. Lucien stepped between Damon and me, his icy blue eyes fixing on mine with a heavy, terrifying authority. "You're playing with fire, Scarlett," Lucien continued, his gaze sharp enough to draw blood. "Arthur Mercer isn't a civilian caught in the crossf
The aftermath of the Metropolitan Opera House gala was an absolute bloodbath of toxic, suffocating jealousy. The second the heavy iron doors of the penthouse elevator slammed shut behind us that night, Lucien had lost his mind. He didn't yell, Lucien never yelled, but his icy blue eyes were lit with a terrifying, frozen fury as he demanded I hand over my phone. Damon had looked ready to smash the floor-to-ceiling glass windows with his bare fists, growling that Arthur Mercer would be resting at the bottom of the Hudson River before sunrise if he so much as dialed my number. I hadn't backed down an inch. I had stood in the center of the foyer, surrounded by four massive, furious lords, and laughed straight in their faces. āYou treat me like an enemy,ā I had reminded them, my sharp tongue cutting through their collective rage like a scalding blade. āYou lock me in this tower, you bring women to my face, you act like cold monsters, and then you expect me to sit around waiting for yo
Three weeks of absolute war left the city of New York bleeding.The Hart syndicate had systematically dismantled Moretti Logistics, burning their import hubs to ash and freezing their offshore accounts. But the fallout was claustrophobic. With Vincenzoās operatives hiding in the shadows and the police breathing down our necks, Lucien instituted a strict lockdown. I was trapped inside the penthouse fortress, living between Dr. Evelyn Reedās grounding therapy sessions and the suffocating, heavy tension of four men whose obsession with me had turned into a volatile, livewire.I needed air. I needed to remember what the real world felt like outside of blood-stained tactical vests and guarded gates.When Lucien announced that Hart Global was co-hosting a high-society charity gala at the Metropolitan Opera House to project an image of untouchable corporate stability, I didn't ask for permission. I demanded to go."Itās a security risk," Lucien had clipped out, standing by the floor-to-ceili
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Dr. Evelyn Reed as she sat down in the armchair across from my bed. For the first ten minutes, neither of us spoke. I kept my gaze locked on the rain-streaked glass of the balcony doors, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist, bracing myself for the usual clinical platitudes, the empty reassurances that I was safe, that the nightmare was over, that I just needed to breathe.Evelyn didn't offer any of that.She simply opened her leather portfolio, pulled out a simple sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, and began sketching.I watched her out of the corner of my eye, suspicion burning in my chest. "What are you doing?" I finally asked, my voice cracking slightly from disuse."Drawing," Evelyn replied calmly, not looking up from her page. "You don't want to talk, and forcing you to fill awkward silences with a stranger won't help anything. So I'm drawing the skyline while you sit in silence. We can exist in the same room without demands."The unexpect
As I stepped in, someone moved with a speed that defied physics. Before I could even gasp, I was slammed back. My spine hit the wall with a jarring thud, and the cold, unmistakable press of metal was shoved against my temple. "What are you doing here? Who sent you? Who are you working for?" The
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chimeāa sound far too polite for the jagged tension crackling in the air. I stepped out last, my scuffed heels clicking against the black marble floor like a warning. I felt like an intruder, a smudge of dirt on a pristine canvas. The penthouse was breath
As we stepped out of the private elevator onto the executive floor of Hart Global, the air didn't just turn cold; it pressurized. Lucien didnāt slow down. He moved through the office like a king walking through a conquered territory. Every head snapped up. Every conversation died. I felt the weig
I woke up with the kind of headache that felt like a tiny sledgehammer was rhythmicly pounding against the inside of my skull. For a fleeting, blissful second, I forgot where I was. Then, the scent of expensive linen and the oppressive silence of the room hit me. The Hart penthouse. The lionās de







